


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil (MCU Avengers Universe) [22]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, a day in the life, based upon real life experiences, just wanted to write something sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2767859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’d been a time in Phil’s life when he’d have been home alone on Christmas eve with a microwave dinner and inane TV specials. Looking at his family now, there was no comparison to his life before; the kids and Clint were everything. </p><p>A Christmas fic for the holiday season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**DECEMBER 24TH, 6:39 p.m.**

 

“Okay, so I misjudged the crowd,” Phil admitted. “Who knew they’d add extra tables to cram all the reservations in?”

 

Clint held Joshua tight as he weaved his way out of the restaurant Tony had picked for their Christmas Eve dinner. Even in the “private” room, they’d been smashed into each other, no room for a booster seat or a high chair. The night had started out so well with Bella in her pretty green velvet dress that made her red curls shine, little candy canes on her white leggings. Joshua loved his reindeer sweater with a light up nose that glowed when he pressed it. But from the minute they sat down at the table, the die had been cast. Josh knocked over one of the crystal goblets of water … thank God it didn’t break … and Bella kept getting squished by the one of the mayor’s guests sitting behind her. She’d started crying and Josh whined he was hungry and there was organic whole wheat quinoa and low fat feta on the kids menu. The last straw was the cigar smoke floating up from what looked to be Jack Nicholson (it could have been but Clint didn’t get a good look because Josh was having a meltdown as his eyes started to water at the smell). They’d picked up the kids, made their excuses, and left before the first course was brought to the table.

 

“I’m hungry,” Bella whimpered as her stomach growled. “Daddy, can we have frenfries?”

 

“We’ll find someplace,” Phil promised. “There’s a lot of options around here.”

 

**DECEMBER 24TH, 7:27 p.m.**

 

Bella’s patent leather mary janes were scuffed from dragging her feet, her curls tumbled out of the red ribbon that had held them back. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she hiccuped, her head laying on Phil’s shoulder. Every restaurant they’d passed had either been closed or had long lines of people waiting.

 

“Let’s just go back to the tower,” Clint suggested. “We can heat up some fish sticks or something fast and easy.”

 

Phil sighed; it was cold and his nose was red and he just wanted to sit down. Bella was a heavy weight in his arms. Clint was right. They should give up.

 

“Hey, what about here?” Clint stopped before a set of steps that went down to a beveled glass door. Tso Chu’s, the sign proclaimed. A handwritten note said they were open on Christmas Day. Through the window, Phil could see a couple empty tables under red lanterns, paper placemats on the checkered tablecloths. “They’ve got open seats.”

 

“Looks like a hole in the wall,” Phil said.

 

“Some of the best meals we’ve had were in places like this,” Clint reminded him.

 

A bell over the door tinkled as they entered; it was warm and cozy inside, no more than ten tables and a small sushi bar. The walls were covered in photos of people, all in black and white, from babies to elderly, recent to older generations.

 

“Welcome!” A middle age Chinese woman greeted them. “You want a table?”

 

“Yes, please,” Phil said. “Do you have …”

 

“Booster and a high chair? Yes, yes, right this way.” She led them to the table by the window, pulling away one of the chairs. In a flash, a teenager who had the same facial features supplied both seats. Josh went in easily and let Clint take off his coat without too much fuss; Bella, on the other hand, clung to Phil and refused to let go. He finally sat down in the chair the teen pulled out for him and balanced Bella on his lap.

 

“You like chocolate milk?” the woman crouched down and looked in Bella’s eyes. Then she looked up at Phil. “It’s two percent.”

 

“Daddy?” Bella asked, peeking out from under the lapel of Phil’s coat.

 

“Two chocolate milks and a couple beers would be great,” Phil agreed. “Tsingtao, if you have it.”

 

“Hey, Bella baby, you want sweet and sour chicken?” Clint asked after the woman left. “They have egg drop soup.”

 

“Want frenfries,” Bella declared.

 

“Frenfries,” Joshua agreed.

 

“It’s a Chinese restaurant,” Phil tried to reason with them. “You love sweet and sour sauce, remember?”

 

“Frenfries!” Bella’s voice got louder, a sure sign she was getting ready to throw a fit. “Want frenfries.”

 

“Bella, they don’t have …” Phil began.

 

“We do,” the woman said, appearing at the tableside with their drinks. The kids’ were in small plastic cups with lids and straws; dragons danced around the outside. Sitting a beer in front of each of the men, she produced crayons from the pocket of her cardigan. Flipping over the placemat in front of Bella’s unused seat, she put some crayons down for her then handed the others to Clint. Then she took a bowl of crispy fried wontons and set them in the middle of the table along with plum sauce and spicy mustard. Four plates came next. “Kid’s menu. Chicken nuggets, french fries, fish, rice.”

 

“Frenfries!” Bella said, climbing down from Phil’s lap and clambering up into the booster. She deigned to let Phil take off her coat before she picked up the purple crayon and got to work. “Egg soup. Sweenhour chicken.”

 

The woman smiled and jotted down the order. “Sauce on the side, right?” she asked Phil. He nodded. “And for you two? You like spicy?”

 

“Absolutely,” Clint answered.

 

“Special today. Cumin Chili Hunan Beef Pot. Very filling, very hot. And Shanghai Pork Dumplings. Very juicy,” she recommended.

 

“Sounds good. Add a couple spring rolls and two bowls of hot and sour soup to start,” Phil said.

 

The wontons were crispy and not greasy, just the right crunch for the kids to enjoy, but not too filling. The soups were out fast, Clint sharing squares of tofu with Josh who picked them up with his fingers and popped them in his mouth. The spring rolls were filled with fresh cabbage, other vegetables and diced up shrimp. Clint laughed at Phil when the broth in the dumpling dribbled down his chin; Bella pulled one apart and ate it in bits, giggling at her Daddy for getting splattered.

 

A quick picture of Bella’s smiling face and Phil’s loosened tie and sparkling eyes went to Natasha; she texted back that they were just getting to the main course. The accompanying picture showed a big white plate with three squares of meat, two asparagus spears and some dots of colored sauce. Clint showed it to Phil and they exchanged smiles.

 

**DECEMBER 24TH, 8:38 p.m.**

 

“Hey, that’s mine,” Natasha groused when Bruce reached over and snagged one of her spare ribs. His own chili eggplant and spicy tuna roll was already gone

 

“You’re too busy finishing off the pork buns,” Clint told her. He shifted Josh to his other shoulder; the boy had managed to smear ketchup all over his face shoveling fries into his mouth and his fingers were sticky from the rice balls Li Min had brought for dessert. But with his thick brown lashes resting on his cheeks, slow steady breaths rising and falling, he looked very much like a little Christmas angel. Phil had a sleepy Bella on his lap, end of a curl covered in sweet and sour sauce, hand still clutching a bun. He and Clint had shifted over to make room as the others straggled in, Natasha first and the rest trailing like a row of lost ducklings. Steve was putting away a family sized order of kung pao shrimp; Thor and Jane had pulled up another table and she was munching on spicy asparagus while Thor demolished a mound of twice cooked pork and cabbage.

 

The food had been excellent; the chicken was all breast meat, big chunks with only a thin layer of breading. The beef was spicy, mixed with sprouts and mushrooms and chilis in a thick broth. It had chased away the last of the cold as they laughed together, tasting off of each other’s plates. Empty bottles of beer were whisked away as fast as they were drained, fresh ones replacing them. Steve and Bruce had removed their ties and even Phil had loosened his stained one.

 

“We should make this a tradition.” Phil didn’t realize he’d said that out loud until Clint nodded in agreement.

 

“Chinese on Christmas eve. I like it. Egg soup and beer and rice,” he said.

 

“And frenfries,” Bella mumbled, eyes sagging almost all the way down.

 

“And French fries,” Phil agreed.

 

**DECEMBER 24TH, 9:32 p.m.**

 

“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there …”

 

Phil smiled at the tableau as he leaned against the door frame. Josh in his toddler bed shaped like a race car, his Lightning McQueen pajamas on, snuggled under the comforter, eyes half closed as he listened. Bella, unruly hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, her favorite Merida nightgown pulled out so she could tuck her knees inside, sitting in rapt silence, hanging on Clint’s every word. They’d left the others at the restaurant for a long leisurely bath time and the nightly ritual of a bedtime story and kisses.

 

There’d been a time in Phil’s life when he’d have been home alone on Christmas eve with a microwave dinner and inane TV specials. Looking at his family now, there was no comparison to his life before; the kids and Clint were everything.

 

“When Ma in her kerchief and I in my cap …”

 

“When Daddy in his kerchief,” Bella interrupted. “We have Daddy and Papa.”

 

“There are all kinds of family, Bella Boo,” Clint told her.

 

“Daddy in his tie. I want Daddy in his tie.” She pressed her lips together and wrinkled her nose. “Santa is coming to my house, so I can have my daddies in the story.”

 

“Fine. Now where were we? Ah, When Daddy in his tie and I with my bow …”

 

**DECEMBER 24TH, 10:27 p.m.**

 

“Good God, who created these things? Torquemada?” Clint complained, shaking his hand to try to get the tiny sticker off his fingers. “Four sheets of stickers? Honestly, only a kid’s fingers could do this.”

 

Phil bit back the curse that threatened to bubble up. The “simple” picture directions for the castle were just images of what he was supposed to do. According to step 42, the tiny parapet should just snap right in to the tower he was building. But it kept popping back out without any audible click. “Would it hurt to put actual words on the damn directions,” he groused. He hadn’t even started on the pages of stickers that were to adorn the plastic walls and floors.

 

“It’s a race track, for heaven’s sake, not rocket science,” Clint mumbled as he patiently peeled off a one inch by one inch picture of oil cans to go on a sticker shelf he’d just put up. Bending his head to see the right spot, he held his breath as he positioned it and eased the glue side in contact with the garage wall. “Yes!” he crowed when it was on. “I think that one might even be straight.”

 

The stickers used an industrial product that, once it touched any surface, adhered like crazy glue. Clint had tried taking a couple off that he got crooked; they’d ripped and he’d had to wing it, putting other stickers over them.

 

“Yeah, well, we’ve got three more of these things to do. Once you finish Mater’s garage, you need to start on the café and then the cars to go with it. I’ll handle the stables and the archery range,” Phil said.

 

“I’m going to need another drink,” Clint said with a sigh.

 

**DECEMBER 25th, 12:02 a.m.**

 

“Phil,” Clint sighed as he flopped over onto his back. Phil missed the warmth immediately as the sweat began to cool on his chest. “You are so worth losing a little sleep.”

 

“You’ll be bitching at me in the morning; you know the kiddos will be up at the crack of dawn.” Phil didn’t want to move but he needed to get them cleaned up and get Clint into his sleep pants. They’d been naked for almost forty minutes, and that was pushing the boundaries of fate.

 

“Probably. Then I’ll remember how good you felt inside of me and that’ll cheer me right up,” Clint said with grin.

 

Phil tossed him a wipe and his pair of purple plaid flannel bottoms. “We should …”

 

The monitor by the bed crackled to life. A little voice whimpered and sheets rustled; Phil and Clint froze, holding their breaths, listening for the sound of feet hitting the floor and pattering out of the room. Another mumble, half a moan, and then the humming started, tuneless notes in a childish register. Josh sang continuously for two minutes then began to drop in and out as he drifted off. Phil watched the clock; at four minutes and thirty seconds, Josh stopped and they heard nothing but the slightest snore from Bella.

 

Letting out a long sigh, Phil went to unlock the door then crawled back in bed. Clint cuddled next to him as Phil pulled up the covers. Cold feet tucked against Phil’s calves and Clint’s nose burrowed into the curve of Phil’s neck.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Clint mumbled, already half asleep.

 

“Merry Christmas,” Phil replied, turning off the light.

 

**DECEMBER 25TH, 6:02 a.m.**

 

“Daddy? Daddy? Daaaaaaaaaaaaadddy?”

 

Phil cracked his eyes open; a riot of red curls and blue eyes peeking out from under too long bangs filled his vision.

 

“The clock has a six. You said we could get up when there was a six. Santa, Daddy. Did Santa come?” Bella bounced up on the bed and Clint grumbled into his pillow. “Poppa! Santa, Santa, Santa!”

 

“Oh God,” Clint moaned. “Watch where you’re putting your knees, baby. Poppa needs to breathe.”

 

She giggled and climbed onto Clint’s chest. “Silly Poppa. Time to get up!”

 

Grabby hands reached up to Phil; he lifted Joshua up and plopped him between them. “Okay, give us a minute. JARVIS, can you start the coffee and the filming protocol?”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

Amazing how quickly Clint got moving when he had two kids crawling all over him. Without even brushing their teeth or hair, they let the kids run down the hall into the living room where the tree lights were casting a glow. The squeals of pleasure woke them up the rest of the way along with the cups of coffee Phil made them both, Clint’s loaded with cream and sugar, his just a touch sweetened. Sitting on the floor, Clint leaning against him, Phil watched as Joshua ran the new cars across the rug and up onto the coffee table, one chasing the other while he made vroom, vroom sounds. Bella was busy rearranging the castle into a new configuration.

 

“You want to remind them about the rest of the presents?” Clint asked.

 

“We’re in no hurry,” Phil replied, sipping his drink.

 

**DECEMBER 25TH, 8:32 a.m.**

 

“Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes,” Bella chanted, dancing in her seat.

 

Clint stirred the batter, separating the clump of blueberries before he scooped up a ⅓ of a cup and poured it on the hot griddle. Turkey bacon was draining on a paper towel and the sugar free syrup was warming. Picking up Josh, Phil strapped him in his high chair and gently tugged at the stuffed otter he was clutching.

 

“Let’s put him over here so he doesn’t get syrup on him,” Phil said. “He can watch you eat.”

 

“No.” Joshua’s bottom lip turned down and he stared up at Phil. He clasped his hands tighter. “Need Ollie.”

 

“Well, if you want pancakes, Ollie has to sit on the counter,” Phil told him. Joshua grimaced; his face scrunched and he started to work himself up.

 

“Otters eat seafood,” Clint said calmly, flipping the pancakes over. “The flour in the pancakes will make him sick. Nobody wants to be sick on Christmas Day.”

 

Joshua stopped and stared at Clint; he took a deep breath and thought it over, still hesitating. The plate with silver dollar sized pancakes that appeared in front of Bella helped him make up his mind. He offered up the stuffed animal to Phil.

 

“Something smells good,” Natasha said, taking the chair next to Bella. Wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt, Natasha smiled at them and took the cup of coffee Phil handed her. “Nothing better than Hawkeye pancakes. eh?”

 

“Aunt Tasha, I got a castle and a stable and a sweater with snowflakes and red snow boots and a stocking full of candy and Merida socks and Max & Ruby books!” Bella said in one long breath. “Poppa made booberry pancakes, and we’re going to see the Christmas windows if we’re good.”

 

“Wow, you’ve been busy.” Natasha stroked her fingers through Bella’s hair. “Quite a haul there, darling. What about you, Josh? What did you get?”

 

For the longest time, Joshua had struggled to interact with other adults. A month passed before he spoke more than a few basic words to either Clint or Phil. It was Tony who had broken through to the little guy, chattering on about what he was doing that time both Clint and Phil had gotten called out on an emergency. Tony had given Joshua some blueprints, blue pencils and let him go at it, offering up comments and suggestions as if Josh was creating something important rather than scribbling. By the time Phil had picked him up, Josh was babbling back to Tony about a car that could fly and go underwater. Since then, he’d gotten much more vocal, and his limited vocabulary had expanded exponentially.

 

“Cars. Mater’s garage. Ollie!” he pointed at the stuffed otter proudly. “Candy.”

 

“He got a sweater with snowmen on it,” Bella supplied, pausing long enough between huge bites to help her brother out. “And space boots. Will you do my hair, Aunt Tasha? Please?”

 

“Hey,” Clint said, passing over a stack to Phil and then Natasha. “I thought I was on hair duty today.”

 

“Can you do a french braid?” Natasha asked.

 

“If you would teach me I could,” Clint shot back, snatching the syrup from her hands and dousing his pancakes until they were swimming. “Fine, Josh still wants me to do his, right buddy?”

 

Josh looked up, a dribble of syrup running down his chin and ran one sticky hand through his uncombed hair. “Poppa fix,” he mumbled through his mouthful.

 

Clint sighed. “Right. Poppa fix.”

 

Phil hid his smile behind his cup.

 

**DECEMBER 25TH, 9:42 a.m.**

 

“Did you like your present?” Clint asked.

 

Phil fingered the soft cashmere royal blue sweater. “It’s gorgeous and you’re going to beg me to wear it today, aren’t you?”

 

They were all still in their pajamas, stomachs full, dishes stacked away in the dishwasher. Bella and Josh were on the floor playing, Bella directing the merging of castle and car playsets. Natasha was draped over the recliner, eyes half closed, wearing this year’s ugly Christmas sweater -- she and Clint exchanged on every year -- and the black scarf Bella had picked out from her and Josh. Phil and Clint’s real gift, tickets to the Met, were tucked in her pocket.

 

“And I’m going to put on the jeans you got me as well,” Clint agreed with a smile. Phil couldn’t resist buying the distressed pair with leather accents; he had a weakness for Clint’s ass in a snug pair of worn jeans.

 

This year, they’d agreed on small gifts because they were thinking about getting a house. Not that they’d broken the news to anyone yet, but the kids needed their own rooms eventually and Clint wanted to get a dog and a yard would be really nice with a swing set and a barbeque on the porch. Nothing fancy, maybe a brownstone not too far from the Tower to make visiting easy.

 

The blaring of the klaxon startled Phil from his contented slump. Clint sat up straight and Natasha was already on her feet before Steve’s voice interrupted the holiday music they had playing.

 

“We’ve got an incursion in Cleveland. Giant mechanical elves are attacking near the hospital. Tony’s suiting up and Thor is ready. Phil, we need you to coordinate from the command center. Clint? I know it’s Christmas but …”

 

“Not a problem, Cap,” Clint said, taking out his phone. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

“I’m on my way up,” Natasha said. “Carol coming?”

 

“She’s already firing up the jet,” Steve replied. “ETA seven minutes.”

 

“Darcy’s visiting her family,” Phil said, thinking out loud. “Jan and Hank are at her folks’. Wonder if Parker could swing by …”

 

“I’ve got this,” Clint said. He put the phone to his ear and spoke into it. “Hey, Hawkeye. You up for shooting some scary roboelves?” He grinned. “Awwww, man, I’ve been up for hours. Get your lazy ass out of bed and get to the helipad. Pick up’s in fifteen.” He paused. “Yeah, they’re knee deep in toys and O.D.ed on syrup. Phil’s going to be the voice in your ear.” Another silence. “Well, what do you get the rich girl who has everything? You’ll just have to wait to find out. Hey … don’t miss, Hawkeye.”

 

“Kate’s at home?” Phil asked.

 

“And very happy to not have champagne brunch with the stepmonster. I can hang here with the mini-mes,” Clint said.

 

“Are you sure that’s okay?” Phil knew Clint was handling being on the back burner thanks to the kids and his bum knee, but letting each other go alone wasn’t getting any easier.

 

“Yeah, it is. It really is. We’ll be here when you get back and I promise to dole out the candy slowly. Organic peanut butter and jelly for lunch,” Clint replied. Phil studied his face carefully; there were no signs Clint was lying. In fact, he looked relaxed and happy.

 

“Okay. Keep everyone safe for me,” he said, leaning over to give Clint a quick kiss before he did the same for Bella and Josh. Phil worried. That was his job, to worry about details.

 

“You do the same,” Clint said.

 

**DECEMBER 25th, 2:52 p.m.**

 

Only the lights from the tree illuminated the room, soft Christmas music playing to mask the usual ticks and pops of the ventilation system. Veggietales were singing “Silent Night” as Phil toed off his shoes and left them by the doorway before he padded across the entry foyer and into the living room.

 

Joshua sprawled out across the Clifford the Big Red Dog pillow, his head lolling off to one side and his legs dangling off the other. His lips were parted, a thin line of drool dangling down; a purple crocheted throw had been tossed on top of him, the one Natasha had made for Clint. On the recliner, Bella was curled up into a ball, fuzzy Captain America blanket covering all but the top of her head, her favorite stuffed elephant half in and half out. And stretched out on the couch, Clint was flat on his back, one arm above his head and the other hanging off, fingers brushing the floor. They were all fast asleep.

 

By the time Phil got to the couch, carefully picking his way around Josh and the scattered toys, Clint’s eyes cracked open and he smiled sleepily. “All okay?” he asked.

 

“No injuries. Kate found their reset buttons and took the first one out.” Phil slipped out of his suit jacket -- he still dressed professionally for missions -- took off his tie, and nudged Clint over. They jostled and adjusted until they were curled up together.

 

“She’s smart,” Clint murmured, eyes drifting closed. “Told you.”

 

“Go to sleep, Clint,” Phil told him.

 

They both did.

 

**DECEMBER 25th, 6:32 p.m.**

 

“Where did you learn to make pastillas?” Bruce asked Clint, biting into one of the banana and pork tamales. “These are good, just like the kind you buy on the street”

 

“The knife thrower was from Puerto Rico; his wife always brought them to the big Christmas dinner. I begged her until she taught me.” Clint put a second scoop of Bruce’s brussel sprout and cranberry slaw onto Bella’s plate. She was eating it like it was candy because no one bothered to tell her what was in it.

 

The table was heavy with overflowing dishes. Tony had wanted to have the whole meal catered, but the rest of them had argued for a potluck. They’d compromised; the ham glistening with pineapple slices, the golden brown turkey, and the mashed potatoes were from Pepper’s favorite service. Everything else had been brought by the people gathered around the extra large dining table. Phil had made his mother’s sweet potatoes -- the secret was glazing them with honey and crisping them in a saute pan. Steve made dressing from an old family recipe. Natasha had surprised everyone with a tomato artichoke aspic that was delicious. Darcy, who’d returned just in time for the meal, brought along a dish of cranberry relish. Pepper didn’t cook, so she bought rolls from one of the best bakeries in town. A green bean casserole showed up thanks to Carol, a big pan of four cheese macaroni and cheese came via Peter’s Aunt May along with a number of homemade pies, and a selection of dessert bars came from Jan’s favorite restaurant. The salad Hank tossed together. Jane and Thor showed up at the last minute with an antipasto platter big enough to feed an average family of ten. The plethora of cookies were courtesy of Darcy, Bella, and Josh who made them over two days.

 

“Cookie?” Joshua asked, a smudge of mashed potatoes on his cheek.

 

“Yes, you can have dessert,” Phil told him. Both of the kids had eaten well; Phil needed to get the recipe for the brussel sprout slaw from Bruce.

 

“Come on, kid. I’m ready for something sweet,” Bruce said, scooting back his chair. “I hear a piece of pie calling my name.”

 

“Okay, okay, don’t everybody thank me at once,” Tony stood up and raised his glass. “A toast!”

 

“Daddy?” Bella tugged on Phil’s sleeve.

 

“Just a second, baby,” Phil said, picking up his own glass.

 

Tony paused and looked around the table. “I want it on the record that this was my idea …”

 

“It’s Christmas, Tony. Be nice,” Pepper interrupted.

 

“Daddy.” Bella whispered, tugging again on Phil’s sleeve.

 

“Daddy’s listening to Uncle Tony,” Phil murmured to her.

 

“Alright, alright,” Tony groused, but he was grinning at the same time. “Let’s keep it simple. To family.”

 

“To family,” everyone replied, lifting their glasses and taking a drink.

 

“Daddy!” Bella’s voice had an edge of fear. Phil looked down and saw her pale face and pinched eyes. “I don’t feel so good,” she said.

 

“What’s wrong?” Phil pushed back his chair and dropped onto one knee so he was eye level with her.

 

“My tummy hurts. I think I might …” She swallowed and Phil grabbed her, running for the nearest door, praying he got to the bathroom in time.

 

“Hold on, we’re almost there,” he told her as she gagged, her hand over her mouth.

 

He didn’t bother to close the door, just yanked the toilet lid and seat up and held Bella over the bowl. As she threw up, he knelt on the cool tiles and settled her on his lap, soothing a hand over her back. She was crying, little sobs escaping between the hiccups and the next heave

 

“Water.” Clint handed over a paper cup when Bella stopped.

 

“Take a sip, baby, then swish it around and spit it out,” Phil told his little girl. She grimaced, but did as requested. “Go with Papa. Get your jammies on and I’ll be there to tuck you in.”

 

“But prezzies,” she protested. “Uncle Tony promised.”

 

“You’re sick, Bella,” Phil told her.

 

“Daddy!” she whined.

 

“How about we check your temperature and get you comfortable and then we’ll decide?” Clint suggested, scooping her up. “You ate a lot of unusual food today; maybe your tummy just didn’t like the mixture.”

 

“I’ll be down in a minute as soon as I check on Joshua,” Phil told him.

 

“Josh is good; Bruce and Darcy have him,” Clint said. “It’s probably her sensitive stomach. She’ll be right as rain in a bit.”

 

**DECEMBER 25th, 8:02 p.m.**

 

“Oooooh.” Bella’s eyes were wide with wonder. “What’s it do?”

 

Tony took the flat black square and cleared off a small spot on the coffee table amid the chaos of wrapping paper and empty boxes. “Wave your hand over that round bump,” he told her. When she did, a 3D hologram jumped to life of the Tower.

 

“Watch,” he said, using his hands to blow the building into pieces, turn them on their sides, make them bigger or smaller, even move the furniture around in rooms. “Comes loaded with lots of buildings plus your dads can upload new ones from photos or the internet. And you can build your own.” He tapped the black box and up came a menu with all kinds of building materials scrolling down the side.

 

Bella’s eyes widened and she climbed up on the table to get her hands into the images. First thing she did was find her bedroom and start playing with the virtual toys. Enrapt, she flipped it upside down, shook out everything inside, and started all over again.

 

“Tony, I thought we had a spending limit,” Phil said. They’d all agreed; the adults drew names and everyone could buy something for the kids, but they had to keep the price down. It had worked pretty well; Jan had gotten Phil’s name and Hank switched for Clint’s so they could give the whole family season tickets to the Children’s Theatre.

 

“The programming is the same as what JARVIS uses, I just scaled it down to kidsize, so all I made was the interface,” Tony said with a smug smile. “For Josh’s car I used excess material from other projects; you can ask Pepper, if you don’t believe me.”

 

“He did, Phil,” Pepper agreed. “Most of it would have gone to waste. And I made sure he made the pieces big enough to avoid a choking hazard.”

 

He looked over to where Clint had Josh up on his shoulders; Clint held the remote control and Josh squealed in delight as the red car rose up and flew in a circle around them. They’d already switched out the fenders and made it a convertible; Tony had made interchangeable parts so Josh could design whatever he wanted.

 

“Movie time!” Darcy called. She was happily snuggled up under a warm throw with a cup of hot chocolate. “What are we watching?”

 

“Actually, before we start the movie, Thor and I have an announcement.” Jane sat up straight, her hand twined with Thor’s. “I’m pregnant.”

 

The room erupted in congratulations. Darcy put her mug down and tackle hugged Jane. Steve pounded Thor on the back and Tony laughed.

 

“Well he is a fertility god, after all,” Tony said. “No wonder he knocked you up.”

 

“Daddy says it’s wrong to knock someone down even if they deserve it,” Bella announced.

 

“Little ears, Tony,” Phil admonished.” Thor didn’t hurt Jane; she’s going to have a baby and they’re happy.”

 

“Oh.” Bella’s face fell. “Like when Mommy had Josh in her tummy? She was sick all the time.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Jane told the little girl. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“You have Unca Thor. That’s good.” Bella nodded as if that decided everything.

 

“Alright, alright,” Tony said after a few more minutes of chatter. “ _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_?”

 

“You made us watch that last year,” Steve reminded him. “And it’s not suitable for little kids. What about _White Christmas_? It’s got Bing Crosby.”

 

“Miser!” Josh shouted. “Want Miser!”

 

“We watched that last night, Josh,” Phil spoke over his shoulder.

 

“And the night before and the night before,” Clint agreed. “Let’s try something different, buddy.”

 

“Is it not traditionally to view the little round headed child and his dog?” Thor asked.

 

“ _A Charlie Brown Christmas_. That’s perfect.” Bruce nodded.

 

“Miser, Miser, Miser,” Josh chanted, smacking his palms on Clint’s head.

 

“Josh,” Phil warned. He knew that the day had been overloaded with stimuli; honestly, he was surprised Joshua had made it this long without a meltdown.

 

“What’s Miser?” Tony asked.

 

“ _The Year Without a Santa Claus_. Heat Miser and Snow Miser,” Phil supplied. “Josh is addicted to it. I blame Clint.”

 

“Hey, I love that one!” Darcy said. “We should watch it.”

 

“Yeah, little the rugrat have his pick,” Tony agreed.

 

“I haven’t seen it; I would be up for that,” Steve added.

 

“Daddy, I want Snoopy,” Bella declared, stomping her foot on the table.

 

“Little boys and girls who pitch fits don’t get their way,” Phil reminded both his kids.

 

“It’s Christmas and we’ve got plenty of time; we’ll watch both,” Bruce suggested. “We can save _Die Hard_ until later.”

 

“Yes! Yippee-ki-yay …” Tony started.

 

“Tony!” At least three voices interrupted.

 

“I wasn’t going to say it,” he complained. “Fine. JARVIS, que up the Miser show then Charlie Brown.”

 

**DECEMBER 25th, 11:12 p.m.**

 

The whiskey was aged and the lights a multi-colored glow that washed over them . Leaning back, Phil ignored the mess on the floor and relaxed, Clint’s weight an anchor so Phil could let go.

 

“Well, Bella bounced back quickly.” Clint’s hand rested on Phil’s knee; his fingers curled against the soft cotton of Phil’s sleep pants. Moments like these fueled Phil more than sleep did; sitting close together at the end of a day, the kids fast asleep, the world far away. “I used the gluten free pancake mix but she had more sugar than usual. She’s just not used to it.”

 

“And the excitement. The nap helped; it was a busy day.” Phil dropped his hand off the back of the couch onto Clint’s shoulder. “They were both down deep when I checked on them. You could have stayed and finished the movie.”

 

“Rather be here with you.” Clint turned to smile at Phil. “Besides, hope springs eternal that I might get lucky twice in twenty-four hours.”

 

He tilted his head up and kissed Phil, the taste of shared whiskey on their lips. Slow and easy, Phil enjoyed the simple feel of Clint’s body against against his, the quiet moments together that were so rare.

 

“Maybe we’ll just stay here,” Clint murmured. “There’s something to be said for old fashioned necking on the couch.”

 

“Josh is singing again.” Bella stood in the hallway, clutching her elephant. “I can’t sleep.”

 

Clint didn’t shrug out of Phil’s arms, they just both turned their heads. “He’ll stop in a bit, sweetheart. Go back to bed.”

 

“Will someone tuck me in?” she asked. “And sing me a song?”

 

Sighing, Clint unfolded himself and stood up. “Come on, Bella boo. Another verse or two can’t hurt.” He turned to Phil. “I’ve got this. Wait for me?”

 

“Always,” Phil replied

  
  
  
  
  



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